On Powdered Ground
by Amynion
Summary: It had been said that musketeers did not die easily. They fell like autumn leaves that day... Five years later Aramis still struggles with the aftermath of the Savoy massacre. But he does not struggle alone.
1. Chapter 1

**Note**: This started out life as a one shot character introspective on Aramis... As with most of my writing it got a bit out of control, so there'll be four chapters of it instead ^_^ It's set at the beginning of the season, and I haven't seen the episodes since they originally aired so please forgive any mistakes!

The title and quotes are taken from "On Powdered Ground" by Agnes Obel, a song that largely inspired this fic. It's wonderful, have a listen :)

**On Powdered Ground**

**Chapter One**

_Go back and forward  
But all is melting like the snow  
Taking all from us  
All we thought was left to know_

It started with the first snow, this feeling of dread. To others the soft flakes were harmless, but Aramis looked up at the sky with a hollow heart when he saw the clouds were thick and heavy with it. He hoped it wouldn't settle… but Aramis was rarely so lucky.

He could hide it from the others, he could carry on, do his duty… It was manageable, apart from the nightmares. Aramis just tried to sleep alone, and if that was unavoidable he tried not to sleep at all. It was manageable… until they found Musketeers dead in the snow.

Suddenly Aramis was thrust five years into the past… He put a shaking hand to his head, trying to wipe away the blood he felt running down his face. But the blood on the snow was far more horrific. It stood in stark contrast, red on white, pooling and melting. The warmth of life against the cold of death… and death's harbingers were here already. They called and danced about the bodies, clothed in black feathers, thankful of easy pickings in these harsh times. Aramis would have dashed forwards to chase them from his fallen brothers, but his feet were lead weights. He couldn't move, he could hardly breathe. It was happening again, it would happen again. Marsac left… were they leaving? Would they leave him alone amongst the dead?! Panic took flight in Aramis' heart. He frantically looked around for Athos and Porthos, as if he had been away… In a way he had been, Aramis was momentarily trapped in his head with the horrors of the past. The two musketeers were kneeling over the fallen, speaking words that Aramis couldn't hear over the pounding of his own heart in his ears. They were still here… they were with him, and with that knowledge Aramis' harsh breaths slowed a little.

Back at the garrison Athos went to report while the others settled down to a game of cards. Aramis was too distracted to play and lost in short order. He mumbled his excuses and retired to a chair by the fire. Inch by inch he pulled it closer. Aramis felt so cold. He threw some more wood into the roaring hearth, thinking if he could just build it up a little more it might stop the shaking. If he built it up enough Aramis might imagine himself on a warm summer's day standing guard at the palace instead of standing in winter's chill amidst a massacre.

"Aramis?" Porthos' voice carried across the room. He received no answer and tried again. "Aramis!"

At that the young musketeer's head shot up. "Yes?"

"Are you ill?" Porthos asked with a note of concern.

"No, of course not, I'm perfectly fine, what makes you say that?" Aramis rushed out his words, almost seeming on the defensive.

"You'll set yourself alight if you get any closer to that fire". Porthos gave his friend a pointed look. "And you don't need to feed the flames. We're sweating over here, aren't we d'Artagnan?"

The young lad made a noise of agreement.

"I'm just… cold". Aramis turned his eyes back to the flames.

"I can see you shivering from here. Why not go to bed? You'll feel better for a bit of sleep".

"No! I'm alright, I told you – I am fine. I don't need sleep".

After this sudden outburst Porthos and d'Artagnan looked at their friend with a raised eyebrow each.

"We all need sleep Aramis, even you". Porthos replied slowly.

Aramis went quiet for a moment… Perhaps he should retire to bed. It would get him away from their concerned glances at least. Yes, he would go to bed… he didn't have to sleep. Aramis feared closing his eyes like never before. The nightmares he knew were coming had just been fed fresh blood. He could hear the ravens calling even now… Silently Aramis cursed, he thought he was getting over this. He thought the nightmares would fade with time and Savoy would become a distant memory, a long scarred over wound. Those wounds had just been ripped open at the sight of more musketeers taken from them, lying dead on powdered ground.

"Very well gentlemen, I'll take my leave. Good night to you both". Aramis stood without his usual flourish of cheerfulness; the musketeer drew his cloak tight about himself and made his way to the door like a bent old man.

"Look after yourself Aramis!" Porthos shouted after his friend. Then he added under his breath more to d'Artagnan. "Lord knows you won't let us do it for you".

**~oOo~**

The next day on parade Aramis stood with his brothers in arms shivering in the cold. Orders were given, though Aramis found he hadn't taken a word of them in. He had not slept at all that night. Instead he busied himself cleaning every weapon and stitching every worn piece of clothing he could lay his hands on. It left his mind drifting… Aramis felt half dead, but at least he had suffered no nightmares.

Athos suddenly clapped a hand to his shoulder, bringing the young musketeer to his senses. "Are you coming then?"

"What?" Aramis asked, slightly bewildered.

"Were you not listening? You're with me, on guard duty at the palace".

"Oh… of course, lead on". Aramis coughed and rubbed at his eyes, trying desperately to feel a little more awake.

Athos didn't lead on, in fact he didn't remove his hand from his friend's shoulder. Instead he seemed to lean in and scrutinise Aramis a little more closely.

"Are you ill?"

Aramis sighed. "Why do people keep asking me that?"

"Because you look ill". Athos commented in his dry droll way.

"I'm fine". Aramis pushed his friend's hand from his shoulder and set off at a brisk pace.

"I've seen fresher looking faces on corpses".

Aramis nearly missed a step. He really didn't need to be reminded of dead bodies right now… "How many times do I need to say it? I'm fine!"

"If you insist… but I can easily have Porthos reassigned. You know how he-"

"There is no need, I'm fit for duty". Aramis interrupted. "Now if you've finished acting as my personal physician don't we have a king to guard?" He pushed on, leaving Athos behind.

"If you can stay upright long enough to guard him…" Athos muttered under his breath, though it was not said quietly enough, Aramis' ears picked it up.

"I'm fine!" He shouted over his shoulder.

On reaching the palace Athos and Aramis found it was not the king they were guarding, but the queen. Despite the cold Queen Anne had insisted on a walk around the gardens. She thought the fallen snow made the grounds most picturesque. Aramis thought it more akin to a sepulchre. Winter left everything dead, the snow merely served as a shroud… He fidgeted and seemed most restless as they followed the queen and her ladies in waiting. The young musketeer imagined foes at every corner. It was not safe out here, they were not safe… Athos had been exchanging a few words with Her Majesty, but he kept shooting concerned glances over his shoulder and eventually dropped back beside Aramis.

"What is the matter with you?" Athos hissed under his breath.

Aramis looked about and spoke as if in a dream. "It's not safe… it's not safe".

"Of course we're safe, and if ever we were not safe - we're musketeers! We face the danger and defeat it".

"Not every time, not when there's snow on the ground and ravens on the wing…" A bird called in the distance and Aramis visibly flinched.

This together with the haunted look on Aramis' face seemed to elicit some sympathy from Athos. "Look, we'll be going back inside soon. I think the queen is starting to feel the chill of the air".

To the considerable relief of Aramis Athos was proved right and they made for the palace after a few minutes more. As soon as they crossed the threshold Aramis relaxed a little. The warm air was a balm for the fears that assailed him out there. The two musketeers followed the queen and her entourage to her rooms. Athos left Aramis standing guard outside. He needed to speak with Alexander, who was guarding the council chamber where the king was holding a meeting. But he assured Aramis he would return shortly.

The musketeer stood with his back to the door, barring entry to any who would seek to assail the queen. Long moments passed where not a single soul came down the corridor. Everything was silent, apart from the occasional peal of laughter from within the room. It left Aramis alone with his thoughts. They circled around dead musketeers and Savoy like ravens that prepared to stoop upon a feast… and so he looked for distractions. The musketeer examined the minute details on the painting opposite. A long dead king looked back at him with watery eyes; Aramis admired the work that had gone into depicting each stitch of elaborate brocade. But the painting could only hold his attention for so long.

Suddenly the tiredness Aramis had managed to stave off came upon him. Outside the cold air and anxiety had kept him alert, but here in the warmth he was being coaxed to close his eyes. The musketeer retrieved a chair from further down the corridor, he could guard just as well sitting down as standing up. Before long his eyes seemed to shut of their own accord. They flew open again as Aramis felt himself falling… _he did not want to sleep_… A few more times this battle was fought and won, but his eyes closed for longer and longer until they ceased to open at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_On what we treasure  
Falls a dusty snow  
Taking us backwards  
But where we will never know_

It had been said that musketeers did not die easily. They fell like autumn leaves that day.

There was no warning; they had been asleep in their tents when the enemy attacked… Those left on watch had their throats slit before they could raise the alarm. Aramis was roused from sleep by screams. He took up his sword and charged out into the night clothed in little more than his shirt. Who were these men? Why did they attack? Were they just bandits, or men with a cause? It was all a blur as Aramis went into the fray. Kill or be killed, that was all he knew. The musketeer felled men like trees, even as his own men fell around him.

As Aramis pulled his rapier from the chest of an attacker he found the apparent leader stood ahead. He shouted orders from behind the mask that concealed his face. Aramis zeroed in on him. The large man met the musketeer's blow with one of his own. They exchanged a flurry of cuts and parries amidst the falling snow, neither one gaining ground over the other. Suddenly Aramis found himself fortunately placed to get a slice in at his opponent's back. The masked man cried out at the heavens seemingly with anger as much as pain. Aramis stood triumphant for a moment, expecting him to drop to his knees, he _had_ laid the fellow's back open nearly from shoulder to hip… but instead the great brute whirled around and struck Aramis above the temple with his pommel.

The world spun as Aramis fell back, he gasped at the shock of the cold snow against his skin. _Get up! Get up now!_ He shouted at himself, the man would surely finish him off, but Aramis had momentarily lost control over his limbs. He felt hot blood pour down his face… _GET UP!_

Aramis managed to roll over and weakly raise his blade. The great bear of a man stood over him, savouring this moment. Though only his eyes could be seen Aramis was sure a cruel smile twisted his lips… With a sudden swipe the musketeer's sword flew from his grip. So this was it… this was the end. Aramis' scattered mind searched for a prayer, but words slipped through his fingers like sand. _I walk through the valley of the shadow of death… I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…_ that was all Aramis could recall of the psalms. That one sentence played around his head, echoing endlessly as his enemy brought his sword to bear.

And then it was turned aside. Another leapt forward in his defence. Aramis' sight was failing, but he thought it was Marsac. He tried to crawl away as the two fought above him. His limbs felt heavy and awkward, the blow to his head had been a strong one… More moved in, then suddenly Aramis felt hands under his arms, pulling him aside.

"We have to go… there's too many… we need to go". A frantic voice came from above.

Aramis jarred across the cold ground as he was removed from the fighting… Marsac lifted him, pulling an arm over his shoulders, and the two musketeers stumbled away. They crashed down behind some trees out of sight. Aramis blinked furiously, trying to clear his vision. Marsac's harried face swam before his eyes.

"Your head… it's bleeding, I've got to stop the bleeding". Aramis winced as Marsac pressed a wad of cloth to his wound. He kept looking back through the trees as he dressed the injury. "Aramis, there's too many… I can't… I can't…"

The sounds of fighting and screaming filtered over to them. Aramis wanted to say something… anything… but his head hurt so much, and the world was fading…

When next he woke Aramis struggled to his feet, everything tilted. He held on to a tree for support. Marsac had gone… where was Marsac? Aramis stumbled a few steps and called out for his friend, but his voice was hoarse and did not carry far. There was no need to call out again. There he was. Marsac stood, head bowed amongst the fallen. He tore off his uniform and let it drop to the powdered ground.

"Marsac… no". Aramis whispered.

But Marsac did not tear his eyes away from the dead musketeer at his feet.

"Marsac…" Aramis tried again.

And Marsac left. He walked away, heavy footsteps crunching in the fresh fallen snow.

"Marsac!" Aramis took a step, trying to follow, but he fell to his knees and could do nothing more than watch his friend desert.

Aramis crawled forwards awkwardly, Marsac was gone. He was alone… alone amongst carnage. Everywhere Aramis looked his friends lay still with a dusting of snow on their cooling bodies. Amongst them was a stray masked man here and there, but twenty of his own were dead. This was undeniably a massacre. Aramis' eyes roved the clearing, naming each man he came across, ending on Francois mere inches away. The poor man's empty unseeing eyes seemed to fix on Aramis. The gaping wound at his throat drew a dry sob and a retch from the musketeer. His blood had long stopped flowing; it dyed the white ground an unnatural dark colour. Still, his dead eyes were fixed on Aramis…

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry…" The musketeer whispered over and over.

He didn't feel so cold any more… Aramis just wanted to sleep. His head hurt, and he was so tired. He curled up and drifted away…

…

The imagination is a terribly powerful thing. In the weeks and years afterwards it worked with Aramis' nightmares to fill his hazy semi-conscious visions with glorious embellished detail. He was taken back to Savoy, but to a new place he didn't know with horrors ten times as worse. The scattered bodies that had fallen haphazardly multiplied and each turned their eyes on Aramis. He woke in his tent to feel blood pooling about him, and he recoiled at finding a dead brother's gaze inches from his own. He ran outside seeking escape only to find the field was covered in blood.

And now his nightmares had been renewed with fresh fallen snow on fresh fallen bodies. Aramis saw them being attacked by masked men… They would come again; they would come for him and his friends. He had to defend them. He reached for his sword…

**~oOo~**

A sudden clatter outside disturbed the chatter between Anne and her ladies. They all fell silent and looked at the door. A strangled yell followed and a few of them gasped.

"Are we being attacked? Is there a fight outside?" One asked anxiously.

Anne remained calm. "Hush… I don't hear anyone else out there, nor sounds of blades clashing".

She ventured over to the door.

"My Lady! Come away from there!"

"I am only going to listen!" Of course she listened, and on hearing nothing Anne opened the door a crack. She found Aramis on the floor, shaking, seemingly fighting an unseen enemy. "Aramis? What is the matter? Are we in danger? Aramis?"

The others came to the door to see what was going on. With nobody else in the corridor Anne considered it safe enough to open the door and approach the struggling musketeer.

"Aramis?" His eyes were shut tight. He didn't seem to be with them. "Aramis, will you wake up?"

She came to kneel beside him, ignoring words of warning from her ladies in waiting. And just as she reached her hand out, making to shake the musketeer, Aramis' eyes flew open. They were shocked and unseeing. At the same time he unsheathed a dagger and lashed out, catching her palm. Anne pulled back her hand with a hiss as Aramis recoiled and sprung to his feet, drawing on his rapier.

"Aramis! Drop your sword!" Athos voice rang out down the corridor.

The queen got to her feet and backed off as Athos approached. He neared Aramis, acting as if he were facing a cornered animal.

Aramis stood with his weapons at the ready, breathing raggedly. "Marsac?"

"No, it's Athos, you're at the palace… and you should put your sword away, you're scaring the ladies".

At that the veil of horror seemed to drop from Aramis' eyes, he looked to the alarmed faces of the ladies in waiting and fell in on himself when he noticed the queen clutched a bloodied hand to her breast. The musketeer struggled to sheath his rapier with shaking hands. "What did I do?"

"Your Majesty, I must apologise, Aramis has not been well recently. I will take him back to the garrison and arrange another guard for you. Would you like me to call for a surgeon?" Athos spoke while advancing on Aramis. He took the young musketeer's shoulder and made to push him to the exit.

"No, no, that will not be necessary. The cut is a shallow one, I dare say you have had much worse on my account. My ladies here will be able to bind it for me".

"Very well, my apologies again Your Majesty". Athos managed a quick bow as he guided Aramis down the corridor. Then he hissed to his friend when they were out of earshot. "Aramis you fool! You just drew your sword on the queen! Why will you not accept help when you need it?"

But Aramis was still half in a daze and did not answer.

**~oOo~**

Back at the garrison Athos took Aramis to the sleeping quarters. There were a few rooms set aside from the communal beds so that the sick and injured might have some peace and privacy. Athos pushed Aramis inside one and closed the door.

"You can talk or sleep, it's your choice".

Aramis sat down on the bed heavily. "I wish to do neither… I need to see her, to apologise…"

"I apologised for you. Now talk or sleep, what will it be?"

"No, _I_ have to apologise". Aramis ran a hand over his weary face and sighed.

"There will be another time for that, when the dust has settled so to speak. Let me put this another way – If you do not wish to sleep, I can knock you out. If you do not wish to talk… well, I cannot force you. But there is something troubling you, breaking you apart to the point where you would draw a sword on those you are sworn to protect. If you won't tell me I can't help, and I can't know you're safe enough to carry out your duties… I will have no choice but to declare you unfit".

"You can't help me". Aramis said bitterly, his face twisted with a scowl. "Nobody can. There is no release from this". He pointed at his head viciously. "Not unless you turn a pistol against me".

"Do you want to die?" Athos spoke in his usual emotionless way.

"I don't know… I know I wanted to die. I know I should have died… Twenty perished. _Twenty_ Athos! How did it come to be that I should rise and they should not? I was sent there to die. I should have died…"

"Death was not your fate then and it is not your fate now". The emotionless mask Athos wore suddenly slipped. "For goodness sake Aramis, what would Porthos say if he heard you speaking like that?!"

"I don't want him to know, I didn't want you to know. I tried to hide it… I tried to carry on".

"Of course we knew. You think we didn't notice the hollow look in your eyes each winter? But you wouldn't let us in, you wouldn't let us help. We did what we could… we avoided taking you on missions out there, we assigned you to guard at the palace… but you kept up that ridiculous façade. And so we couldn't help. It's breaking down now isn't it? Was it the musketeers we found dead in the snow? Talk to me Aramis…"

"You weren't supposed to know! I didn't want to burden you, any of you… You can't help me. I don't want your help or your pity…"

"What do you want?"

It was that moment that Porthos found them. He opened the door and strode in without knocking. Aramis immediately turned away to face the wall, feeling somewhat ashamed.

"Old Serge told me you were up here, are you alright?"

"Yes, Aramis was just explaining to me why he drew his sword on the Queen". Athos commented wryly.

"You what?!" Porthos rounded on Aramis, whose eyes had turned to the floor.

With no explanation forthcoming from Aramis Athos spoke up. "He seemed to be in the throes of some nightmare, perhaps a Savoy flashback, which he is doing his best to avoid talking about".

"Is this true?" Porthos asked in disbelief.

A slight nod came from the young musketeer, but he kept his eyes fixed on the floor.

"This has gone too far Aramis, surely you see that? Will you let us help you now?"

In the face of Aramis' silence Athos spoke again. "He said he doesn't want our help or our pity. So I ask again – what do you want?"

Finally this got a response. Aramis shot to his feet and faced them. "I want to die! Is that what you want to hear? I wish I was dead!"

Porthos surged forwards and grabbed Aramis by the lapels, giving him a hefty shake. "How can you say that?! Are you so selfish?! Do you think nothing for us? To wish death on yourself is to wish death on us all!"

"I should have died! I wish I had died five years ago in that accursed forest!" Aramis clutched at Porthos' arms.

"You almost did!" Porthos gave him another shake. "You are selfish Aramis! We thought you dead! You suffered, but we suffered alongside you…"

Anger seemed to drain from Porthos then. He dropped Aramis to the bed none too gently and took a step back.

"If you won't talk then I will. We said nothing of Savoy since you seemed to want to go on pretending it didn't happen, but now is the time…"

_Five years ago…_

"He is not dead". Porthos' voice was hard and insistent as they rode towards the border.

"The message is clear, there were no survivors…" Athos urged his horse on as he spoke.

Treville had told them to wait for the cart to bring back the fallen, but the pair of musketeers had mounted and shot off. Aramis had been on the training exercise and if there was a chance he was alive it was dwindling with every passing second.

"He is not dead, not until I see…" Porthos couldn't seem to finish his sentence. "I have to hope Athos, can you not grant me that at least?"

"Hope is a refuge for the deluded; I'm only facing the truth Porthos. I wish it weren't so, but the truth cannot be changed. If there are no survivors there are no survivors".

"Then I will be deluded and happily so. The truth can be wrong".

"Even if he survived the attack…"

_The cold will probably have finished him off…_ Porthos finished Athos' sentence for him. But he could not bear the idea of Aramis lying dead in the snow. Twenty two had been killed… _might have been killed_… and Porthos mourned every one, but one in particular more than the rest. They were called 'the Three Inseparables' with good reason. They were as close as brothers, bound by friendship rather than blood, and a blow against one was a blow against all. Athos was being a pragmatist as usual, but Porthos could tell beneath his stoic exterior he was already mourning their friend. Porthos, for his part, was still in denial.

"He is not dead". Porthos said again. Perhaps if he said it enough it would become true…

Their way was signalled by the body of a dead musketeer. Being this far out with his throat slit he was probably on watch… The poor fellow would never have seen it coming. They were only on a training exercise for goodness sake. This was not supposed to happen… Porthos' fist tightened on his reins. Whoever was responsible for this would pay with their own blood.

The two musketeers rode on a little further before dismounting as they reached the clearing. They took only a moment to secure the horses before running through the snow to find scattered bodies everywhere… Porthos' breath caught in his throat. He had been so set on reaching Aramis he hadn't been prepared for this sight to greet him. Blood and snow and ravens…

"Find him, he's here somewhere". Athos' voice broke Porthos from his reverie.

They both dashed forwards, checking each man they came across for signs of life. Some they did not have to check… those with grey staring eyes and gaping throats or chest wounds, their shirts more red than white… it was obvious there was no saving them.

"I don't see him… Aramis!" Porthos shouted for his friend in vain. "Aramis, call out! We're here!"

"Here Porthos! He's here!" Athos waved him over and sure enough, curled up next to Francois lay Aramis.

Athos rolled him over while Porthos crashed down into the snow to cradle his head.

"Aramis… Aramis, wake up, you're going to be fine". Porthos brushed away the light dusting of snow on his friend. It clung stubbornly to his eyelashes… and his eyes remained closed.

But Athos had his fingers pressed to Aramis' throat and the most beautiful smile of relief blossomed across his face. "He's alive!"

Porthos had been so taught with anxiety he near enough collapsed at this news.

"We have to warm him up, he's dangerously cold". Athos was already taking off his cloak.

In no time at all they had Aramis well wrapped up. Porthos held him tightly against his chest, sharing body warmth, and fearing his friend would slip away if he let go.

"He's been wounded… his head". Athos probed gently at the bandage. "Hold him still while I take a look, the dressing is soaked through".

Porthos watched Athos' face carefully as he worked.

"Well I'm no physician, but head wounds always bleed terribly. It may not be that serious". Athos' face belied his words, it was tight with worry. "I'll just replace this… it looks to have been done in haste".

While Athos wrapped Aramis' head anew Porthos kept talking to him, hoping he might wake. "If you stay asleep I'll make sure you're assigned stable cleaning duty every day of the week… You've got to wake up Aramis, we can't deprive the ladies of Paris your handsome face now can we? Why there'd be riots in the streets I should imagine".

He spoke of everything and nothing, desperately hoping for a response to any of his well meaning jibes, but Aramis remained unconscious. "Come on Aramis… you can't die now, not after we've found you. We'll get you better again. If you wake up I'll buy you a new hat, I bet you'd like that wouldn't you? Something elaborate with a feather in it… Athos, he's shivering, that's a good sign isn't it?"

"Yes, yes… he's feeling the cold at least".

While he spoke Porthos noticed Athos had got to his feet and stood by a pile of clothes, he looked around the clearing with a puzzled expression. "What is the matter Athos?"

"There seems to be an abandoned uniform here…" He wandered the clearing, counting to himself. "… and there is somebody missing".

"Marsac?" A weak cough came from Aramis. "Marsac… come back".

Porthos was overjoyed to hear his friend speak. "You're alright Aramis, we've found you, we'll take you back".

"That's it. Marsac is missing… he has deserted then". Athos looked sadly down at Aramis. "He left Aramis alone out here to die".

Porthos detected an undercurrent of anger to Athos' voice; his fist was clenched at his side.

"But he didn't die. He's alive and he's going to be fine. Forget Marsac for now".

"You're right, we should get him back to the garrison".

"What of the cart?"

"We'll ride with him… we can't put him in a cart with the dead. He's going to have nightmares enough already". Athos moved forwards to help them up.

It was easier said than done riding with Aramis. He jerked awake occasionally and thrashed about so they had to stop until he stilled. The musketeers took turns with him. Eventually they made it back to the garrison and between them they carried Aramis to one of the sick rooms.

_Present day…_

Aramis sat shame faced on the bed, listening to Porthos tell his own tale. He honestly hadn't realised their side of it…

"And if that wasn't enough, I had to watch you nearly die again in the very bed you sit upon!" Porthos pointed as he spat his words.

_The fire crackled in the hearth as Aramis lay restlessly beneath his sheets. Porthos had not left his side since they returned. While he was heartened that Aramis had warmed up the young musketeer was clearly suffering… Porthos battled with himself, should he try to wake Aramis and bring him out of this nightmare? Or should he let him rest? Though this hardly looked restful… Aramis twisted and turned and flinched and moaned. So Porthos reached a hand out to rouse his friend… it stalled as Aramis let out a half choked cry and began to shake in the throes of some seizure. _

"_Aramis!" Porthos got to his feet and clutched at his friend's taut face. "Aramis!"_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_This strong old blizzard  
I will let it blow  
To undiscovered places  
Underneath the snow_

_Five years ago…_

"It was a fit. He was twitching at first, like he was having a nightmare, and then he shook all over, making these… choking sounds".

The physician had arrived at last to look at Aramis. Porthos sat at the side of the bed recounting what happened, while Athos stood at the end like a silent guardian with his arms crossed.

"Has he woken since?" The physician asked. He was of a wiry frame and went by the name Jussac.

"No, he went quiet afterwards and has hardly made a move since. I would have thought him dead if I could not see the rise and fall of his chest…"

"The head wound must be the cause". Jussac had set about rebinding it while they spoke. "I have seen men succumb to these seizures after a heavy blow to the head. But there is little I can do, save bleed him to prevent infection and inflammation".

Athos watched with a wary eye as the physician took out a small knife and a bowl.

"If he wakes try to get him to drink, and eat some broth if he can manage it". Jussac made an incision near the crook of Aramis' elbow.

Blood ran freely and hit the bowl with a rhythmical chink. It was the only sound in the room as the two musketeers watched their friend with worried eyes.

When the deed was done the physician rose and made to pack away his things. "I will return tomorrow to let more blood, but his recovery will depend on the strength of his will".

"He is strong, stronger than even he knows". Athos finally spoke from his place standing vigil.

While Aramis suffered no more seizures Porthos was sad to see little change in his friend. Aramis grew pale and a sickly sheen clung to his skin. The physician was true to his word and returned the next day. With no signs of improvement Jussac decided to visit twice daily to bleed Aramis.

It was a few days later when Athos entered just as the physician left. Porthos turned to look at him with worried eyes. "He's getting worse. He feels cold… Will you watch over him while I fetch more blankets?"

"Of course". Athos wandered to Aramis' bedside while Porthos near enough ran out of the door.

Athos let his hand drift to the young musketeer's brow. He did feel cold… and his pallor was most concerning. Athos frowned at the bandage wrapped tightly around Aramis' arm. Jussac was an experienced physician, and blood letting was a long used treatment… but Athos personally couldn't see the logic in it. When a man was wounded in battle the first thing you did was stop the bleeding. If it was beneficial then why bother? He did not like these visits from Jussac, but Porthos seemed to have faith in the man…

He returned moments later, arms piled high with blankets. They were soon wrapped around Aramis. With that done Porthos started pacing about the small room, he seemed anxious to do something. Sitting and watching and hoping seemed to be wearing him down.

"We should try to get him to drink something. Will you pass me some water once I've sat him up?" Porthos finally settled on something to do.

Athos wanted to point out Aramis was still unconscious and he would likely end up with more water on him than in him, but he hadn't the heart to obstruct Porthos' well meaning actions. So Athos poured out a cup while Porthos positioned Aramis' limp form in his arms.

Porthos put the cup to Aramis' lips, but his head slipped to the side and the water ran straight out of his mouth. Porthos stifled a curse and moved to support his friend's head a little better. On the second attempt Aramis coughed weakly and what water went in his mouth ended up down his front.

"Porthos…" Athos was moved to say something, but the glare he received stopped him short.

"He needs to drink or he'll die. So I am going to sit here and do this again and again until he drinks. Understand?"

Athos gave a resigned nod and took a seat. As futile as it was he would sit here and help if he could, they were brothers and he could not abandon them.

More water spilled and so Athos moved to wipe it up with a cloth. He filled the cup again and handed it to Porthos. He had never seen Porthos so patient or painstaking. The musketeer eventually changed tack and leaned forwards to whisper in Aramis' ear. Athos could only just make out his words…

"Aramis… listen to me, you have to get better. You have to get better for Athos and me, and the only way you're going to get better is if you drink. Please Aramis… we need you".

Porthos slowly placed the cup against Aramis' lips again, and this time when the cool liquid made it to his mouth his throat worked to swallow it. Athos released the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, and a wide grin spread across Porthos' face. Aramis gave another weak cough.

"That's it, you've done it". Porthos gently lay the young musketeer back down and placed the blankets over him. "Rest now".

**~oOo~**

The next day Jussac missed his visit, it was nearing the usual time for his second visit when Athos returned to Aramis' room.

"Where is that blasted physician?!" Porthos roared as he opened the door.

"He has not come?"

"No, and if he remains missing I'll do some blood letting of my own..." Porthos spoke darkly.

"Perhaps he has been called away on urgent business. Aramis isn't the only ailing man in Paris". Athos was secretly quite glad Jussac seemed to have disappeared.

Just then a knock came at the door and Athos opened it to reveal Treville. He deftly stepped aside to let their Captain in.

"How is he?" Treville's face bore a look of concern crossed with thunder. The Captain had been dealing with the aftermath of the attack and it showed.

"No better, no worse". Porthos' eyes fell on the still form of Aramis. He looked nearly as pale as the sheets he lay on.

"He is a good soldier, he will keep fighting… but I am afraid I bear bad news. I have a message from Jussac – there has been a serious fire at a mill on the outskirts of the city. He has left to tend the victims, and there are many… He may be away a few days".

Porthos' face dropped.

Treville continued. "Jussac gave me the name of a boy who apprenticed with him some years ago. I will have him sent for".

"That won't be necessary". Athos cut in.

That drew Porthos' ire. "What do you mean? Aramis needs treatment!"

"I am not convinced this treatment is doing him any good". Athos looked down at the wan face of their friend. "He is not getting better… besides, who knows how skilled this boy is? Better to wait for Jussac than risk damaging him further don't you think?"

Porthos was quiet at first, and then he gave a firm nod.

"Very well gentlemen, let me know if you change your mind". Treville donned his hat and took his leave.

When the door was closed Porthos fixed Athos with a glare. "Athos, if he dies…"

The warning was left hanging in the air unspoken. Athos replied with only two words, strong and resolute. "He won't".

**~oOo~**

Over the next few days a routine built up around the three men. While one watched over Aramis the other saw to his duties, Athos suspected Treville was intentionally keeping them as light as possible. And then the two men came together to help Aramis drink, they even managed to get some broth into him.

Porthos sat reading by his friend's bedside. He kept glancing up at Aramis, making sure the young musketeer was still breathing. It had become a sort of reflex reaction of late… but every time he looked up he lost his place on the page. Porthos felt he had read the same paragraph ten times, and he hadn't taken a word of it in. He glanced at Aramis once again. Perhaps Athos was right… since this 'treatment' had ceased Aramis seemed to be improving, his colour was definitely returning.

Porthos let his gaze drop to the well thumbed page and he started on that accursed paragraph again…

"What are you reading?" A weak voice drifted over.

Porthos nearly dropped the book. A wide grin spread across his face. He was overjoyed to find Aramis watching him through half lidded eyes.

"Just something Athos left here, L'Astrée, I'm not getting along with it… there's too much about love; it's more your sort of thing really. Now how are you feeling?"

Aramis' eyes drifted closed before shooting open again. "My head hurts… Where's Marsac?"

Porthos hesitated on answering that question, so he evaded it. "Not here… and I'm sure it does, you took a nasty knock to the head. Do you remember what happened?"

Aramis seemed to lose focus as he sifted through his thoughts.

"It's all a blur… there was fighting, was I duelling? Did I win?"

"Not quite…" Porthos held back from reminding him of the massacre. If Aramis was free of those memories he would let him enjoy ignorance and the fleeting comfort it brought.

"I know I have to find Marsac, to tell him… to tell him…" Aramis' voice faded away as his eyes closed.

"There's nothing he needs to hear from you". Porthos said bitterly.

It was an hour later when Athos returned to the room bringing a bowl of broth with him. He had barely gotten over the threshold when Porthos excitedly jumped up to take hold of his shoulders. The broth nearly spilt over them both.

"Careful! It's hot!"

But Porthos paid it no heed. "He woke Athos! He was awake, and talking!"

"It doesn't take much to impress you now does it?" Athos couldn't help but tease in his own dry manner. "But I am delighted to hear it. I take it you won't need my help with this any more?"

Athos offered the broth and Porthos took it with no less enthusiasm. "Aramis? Aramis, wake up, I've got something for you to eat".

Aramis remained sleeping soundly.

Athos raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you didn't dream this great awakening?"

Porthos answered with a glare and then raised a hand to shake gently at Aramis' chest. "Aramis, wake up. It's getting cold…"

Still there was no response from the prone man in the bed.

Porthos tried again. "Aramis, Madame de Bois-Tracy is here to see you".

Nothing.

"Aramis! Madame de Bois-Tracy's angry husband is here to see you!"

"Would you like to hold him up or wield the spoon?" Athos spoke wryly.

And then a hazy voice came to life. "… was just returning… handkerchief… Madame dropped…"

"Of course, what a gentleman you are Aramis". Athos said with a rare smile. It was such a relief to hear his voice.

"So you would wake to defend your honour but not for me? I'm insulted". Porthos gave a hearty laugh and raised the spoon to Aramis as soon as he worked his way from sleep.

When the young musketeer recovered his wits he frowned.

"What is it?" Porthos asked.

"I can feed myself, I am no child". He tried pushing himself up with a wince.

"Very well, if you insist…" Porthos carefully placed the bowl on Aramis' lap and watched as his unsteady hand took the spoon.

Each mouthful seemed to drain the young musketeer. His hand shook more and more until he declared he was finished with half a bowl still to go. Porthos insisted he could manage a little more and made to help. Aramis protested weakly with a few choice words at first, but he gave in under the force of his friend's will. He hadn't the strength to resist. When finally the broth was finished Aramis laid his head back down and drifted away.

"Well, he called you a booby, he must be feeling better". Athos noted with a hint of amusement.

**~oOo~**

A soft knock at the door heralded Treville's arrival. On seeing Aramis was asleep he beckoned the two musketeers over to him. His face was full of regret.

"I would not ask this of you if I had any other choice… I need two men to deliver important documents from the palace as a matter of urgency".

The two men in question did not answer straight away, torn between duty and their friend as they were.

"How long will we be away?" Athos enquired.

"A few days at most".

"A few days?" Porthos looked back at Aramis over his shoulder. "We cannot leave him that long…"

"As I said, I would not have asked you, but our forces are stretched thin… Need I remind you we just lost twenty men? I have done what I can in letting you care for Aramis, but I cannot keep duty from your door any longer".

"We will go..." Athos started. His heart suddenly felt hollow at that potent reminder of their fallen brothers.

"Athos…" Porthos made to protest.

"No, Porthos, we are musketeers, we are bound to our duty. Aramis is on the mend, Serge can care for him in our absence".

"Then I am with you…" Porthos spoke reluctantly.

It was an uneventful if unpleasant journey the musketeers embarked upon. Snow had made some of the outlying pathways quite treacherous, and in places they had to lead their horses rather than ride. Porthos complained incessantly about his wet feet while Athos bore the irritation with his usual stoic quiet manner. Due to the nature of the documents they carried trouble had been expected, but it did not materialise. Decoys had also been sent out and they seemed to have done their job. Athos was almost disappointed… a fight would have been a welcome distraction from the endless saga of Porthos' freezing toes. In any case they were both glad when their delivery was made and they could turn their horses back towards Paris.

On returning to the garrison the two musketeers went to check on Aramis. They expected to find him awake, maybe even sitting up, and hopefully eating. They were not prepared for the sight that met them. Aramis looked as bad as when they first found him. His skin was pale and his breath was laboured. The cause was evident – Jussac stood binding his arm after a bleeding session. Athos looked at the amount of blood held in his little white bowl and felt quite sick.

"What are you doing?" Porthos asked, a dangerous undercurrent to his voice.

Jussac gave them both a disapproving look. "Continuing his treatment. You were most neglectful in not calling for my former apprentice. I have had to bleed him more to account for our lost sessions".

"He doesn't need your treatment, he was getting better". Porthos gave the impression he was barely hanging on to his anger now.

"It is because of my treatment he was getting better. He has suffered no more fits since I have been bleeding him-"

"He was awake! He was eating and talking! Now look at him!" Porthos interrupted harshly.

"My friend, have you studied medicine?" Jussac fixed the musketeer with a glare.

Porthos took a step forwards, using his height to intimidate the diminutive man. But something caught his sight and he seemed to growl deep in his throat.

"What is this?" Porthos snatched up Aramis' arm by the wrist and revealed lurid bruising across his skin.

Still Jussac lost none of his confidence. "He woke and became distressed when I tried to treat him. It was necessary to restrain-"

"Get out".

Athos knew that tone of voice. It was a warning, a last chance, a precursor to hell breaking loose.

Jussac would still not take the hint. "He was-"

"I would do as he says". This time Athos interrupted. He could see Porthos was full of taut fury, and Jussac was about to bring about a storm of reckoning.

"Very well…" The physician set about packing his things away.

As Athos showed Jussac out he made it clear in no uncertain terms that they would no longer be requiring the physician's services. When he turned back to Porthos it was like another man had taken his place. The musketeer sat by Aramis, clutching at his hand gently. All anger had gone, it was replaced by a tentative sorrow that Athos almost hesitated to interrupt.

"We'll get him back Porthos"

"Aramis?" Porthos made no answer to Athos, his eyes were fixed entirely on the pale face of his friend. "Aramis, we're back… can you wake up? Please wake up…"

**~oOo~**

Aramis didn't wake up. He remained motionless, dragging in breath like it was an arduous and unpleasant task. When Porthos tried getting him to drink the water just ran straight out of his mouth. Athos had never seen Porthos look so hopeless, but still he tried. He refused to give up.

Athos did what he could to help, but there was nothing to be done. Eventually it was like watching them both die. Aramis was fading away and Porthos was powerless to stop it. He seemed to fade too, becoming a ghost of his former self. Porthos pointedly ignored Athos when he suggested getting some sleep. He would sit across from the bed in this small room, watching them drift away. In the end Athos couldn't watch any more. It was hard letting go… though this death seemed peaceful. Their fate as soldiers was to be cut down. This was no violent end for Aramis, but it still felt wrong. Athos couldn't sit watching. He never watched… he couldn't watch back when he ordered... when _she_…

And in the depths of sorrow Athos' weakness took hold. The bottle promised blindness, he wouldn't have to watch, there would be no suffering or pain. Athos hated himself for it… for the moment he left without a word or a look back… but the darkness had taken hold and there was no relief save one.

**~oOo~**

Porthos still sat with Aramis when it was dark, in the depths of night, with the wind howling against the thin paned windows. Their hands were gently entwined… one strong, one lax and letting go. Guttering candles offered a weak light. They timorously held on much as the man in the bed did... clinging to life by a thread... entertaining the idea of going out. But Porthos wouldn't let him.

The musketeer had begged Aramis to wake up. His pleas had turned to whispers, until his voice ceased and only his lips moved. Now he sat bent over the bed, his forehead resting against their hands. Athos had tried getting him to rest, but eventually the insistent musketeer gave up. Porthos would not be moved. No doubt Athos was now drowning his sorrows as was his wont. But Porthos wouldn't leave again.

He looked up and fixed his eyes on the slight rise and fall of Aramis' chest. His breath seemed so tentative, every now and then it faltered… When it did Porthos held his own breath and only released it when Aramis drew another. The walls seemed to close in about them and the air became heavy and oppressive. Rooms took on a certain atmosphere when they held the dying. Everything was slowing and shutting down. The sheets covering Aramis already seemed a shroud… Shadows held a heavy threat that was neither malice nor fear but the agony endured while waiting… it was biding time… marking moments… counting breaths. The presence of death seemed to suffocate the room. Was it the Grim Reaper standing vigil? Had he come to watch the last grains of sand fall through an unfortunate's hour glass? He was not good, nor wicked… just inevitable, and he would take what he was owed when the time came... when the waiting was finally over.

No… NO!

Porthos suddenly shot to his feet. Anger and frustration had got the better of him. He wouldn't accept this. Aramis was _not_ dying. He went to the window and threw it open, the glass very nearly smashed as the wind caught it. Porthos' stood glaring into the night letting the gale batter his face. He stood defiant, as if daring death to come for his friend. Death would have to get through Porthos first, and he would give the Grim Reaper such a fight he would surely never collect a soul from Paris again. Only the wind managed to get past the musketeer's large frame. It whipped about the room cleansing the air of its sickly feel. The pages of Porthos' now abandoned book ran wild with the storm. It even reached out to tousle the hairs on Aramis' head.

Darkness filled Porthos' chest, he took in a deep breath, letting it shudder its way out again. _Aramis was not dying_. He refused to believe it. Much as he had refused to believe his friend dead on their harried ride to Savoy.

"You will not have him!" He shouted uselessly at the night air. "You hear me?! I won't let you take him!"

But there was no reply from beyond the veil, save for a strong gust that brought tears to Porthos' eyes. Though perhaps the wind was not really the cause of that… He pulled the window closed with a roar and turned to face the bed. Porthos suddenly realised… he had been shouting in the wrong direction.

He came to sit back down by the prone musketeer. "Wake up Aramis. You have to wake up. You're stronger than this, you're a warrior, you _fight!_"

Porthos took Aramis' hand and held it more forcefully than before. "We're brothers, we're soldiers, all three of us. We fight back to back, side by side. Don't you leave us… You survived, you made it back home. I won't lose you now. _I won't_. So you have to fight Aramis. Fight, for Athos… for me".

The wind seemed to die down as Porthos finished, and bit by bit the night sky became a lighter grey, heralding the dawn to come. But Porthos was not rewarded with the cracking open of bleary eyes. He was so focussed on Aramis' face he nearly missed the slight tremor in his palm. Then it came again, stronger, unmistakable… Aramis had squeezed his hand. Porthos smiled, flooded with relief, and the room suddenly no longer felt a tomb.

**~oOo~**

It was morning when Athos clawed his way to consciousness with a familiar feeling of drink induced nausea. The guilt and sorrow were not entirely unfamiliar feelings either, but the fact they were so _overpowering_… Suddenly it all came back to him. Aramis dying... Porthos fading… and him leaving.

Athos scrambled out of bed and dressed in a hurry. Though Aramis had always been the man of God between them Athos found himself offering up a prayer, hoping that he would find his friend still breathing.

When he reached the room Porthos was outside, leaning against the wall, his face painted with misery. Athos felt his heart lurch… was he too late? Was Aramis…?

Athos approached slowly, grief weighing his feet down. "Is… is he…"

Porthos didn't even look up at hearing Athos' cracked voice. "He's awake".

All sorrow fell away in an instant, but Porthos' manner and his news were a strange contradiction.

"Then why are you out here? Why do you look as if he had died?"

Porthos met Athos' eyes then. "He remembers".

"Well it was always a possibility the memories would come back and-"

Porthos cut across Athos as if he hadn't heard the man speak. His voice held an aggrieved tone. "And you know the first thing he said to me? 'You left'. He remembers the attack… and he came to, imagining foes all around him. But we weren't there… There was nobody but a man who came to cut him. And then more who held him down while he screamed".

"He doesn't know the hours you've spent by his side. And we weren't to know Jussac would do that".

"I should have been there".

"We were called upon to do our duty".

"It doesn't matter. I failed to protect him… I failed… _again_".

It suddenly seemed to Athos that Porthos was blaming himself for Savoy too. _I should have been there_. But to be there would have been a dereliction of duty. They had other orders, and they were not gifted with foresight… nobody would have thought a simple training exercise would become a massacre.

"You haven't failed and you couldn't have protected him. Not at Savoy, not here. We are given our orders and we must see them through. But you can be there for Aramis now. Come, let us go and see him. It will do no good to linger out here". Athos put his hand to the door and waited for Porthos to push away from the wall signalling his assent. But he didn't. He remained where he was.

"It will do no good to linger in there either".

With that Athos gave his friend a glare and made his way inside.

Aramis lay half propped up in bed. He breathed heavily, as if he had just been sparring hard, and his eyes seemed hollow… but at least he was awake. Athos stepped closer to the bed and Aramis seemed to flinch. His eyes darted about the room before settling on Athos.

"It is good to see you awake my friend". Athos carefully sat down and removed his hat.

"And yet… it isn't good to be awake". Aramis paused to heave in a breath as he spoke. His voice was frail, it pained Athos to hear him thus.

"How so?"

"I remember… and I see them". Aramis shut his eyes tightly as if trying to ward off the bitter memories. "And I see his knife".

"Aramis…"

"I called out for you…. but you left me… like Marsac left me". Despite his weak voice Aramis still managed to speak with some vitriol. "You left me to die".

And what could he say to that? Technically Athos had left him. It was Athos who said duty came first, it was Athos who walked away when watching became too much… "Not like that Aramis… not like him".

"Just like _him_… Now go away Athos. Leave me alone". Aramis settled back down and turned his back on the man in the chair.

Athos sat there a moment with his mouth open, trying to find something to say… The silence stretched out and no words came, so finally he got to his feet and did as Aramis asked.

Porthos straightened the minute he got outside. "Well?"

Now Athos understood why Porthos was outside. "He said much the same to me as he did to you… but he has been through much, he is not himself. It will take time for Aramis to recover. Let him rest for now".

**~oOo~**

In the coming days they tried again, but were met with nothing but hostility and bitterness from Aramis. The young musketeer ate little and said less… unless it was to order them away or explain in exquisite detail what it was to lie with cold dead bodies being picked apart by carrion crows.

Porthos sat watching his friend sleep, a cooling bowl of broth in his lap. Aramis started twitching, and then writhing more violently, twisting his fingers in the bedsheets. Porthos was just about to reach forwards to wake him when he shot bolt upright with a gasp.

"Ambush! Ambush…" The word died on his lips as he woke and realised where he was.

Aramis settled back down, breathing heavily, only seeming to notice Porthos was with him when the musketeer spoke.

"It's alright, you're safe now".

Aramis flinched as if startled but he made no reply.

"I've brought you some broth, will you try a little?" Porthos held the spoon out to Aramis and he pushed it away. Porthos gave a slight sigh in response "You've got to eat if you're going to get better. We'll get you back on your feet and back out there soldiering again, but you must eat".

"No…" Aramis whispered.

"You _can_ recover your strength Aramis, you just have to try… are you not even going to try?"

"There is no need to try… I am no soldier, not any more".

"Don't be foolish, you're a musketeer through and through… Please Aramis. Just eat a mouthful".

"No… I won't, and I'll not go back to being a musketeer. Do not ask me to".

Once more Aramis turned his back on Porthos indicating an end to the discussion. He got to his feet not knowing what more he could say or do. Emotions warred through Porthos, concern and worry vied with frustration… He wanted to care for Aramis and at the same time he wanted to shake him to his senses by the lapels.

Athos was on his way just as Porthos left. He thrust the bowl of broth into Athos' hand and left him with a gruff "You try" instead of a greeting.

**~oOo~**

Suddenly finding himself with a full bowl of broth in hand Athos pushed into the room and placed it on the bedside table. Aramis was curled up on his side facing away from the seat Athos was expected to take. So he didn't take it, instead he stood at the foot of the bed with his arms folded.

"You know he sat by your side day and night? He would have stayed with you if I had not urged him otherwise. If you want to be angry then be angry at me. Do not make Porthos suffer… he didn't leave you".

Aramis said nothing.

"Now will you eat?"

"No…" Aramis mumbled that word again.

"Aramis, you're going to drink, you're going to eat, and you're going to get better". Athos' voice suddenly took on a hard edge. The soldier in him started to shine through. "Or don't you want to get better hm? Don't you want to get back in the saddle and fight beside your brothers? Smell the gunpowder and hear the clash of blades again?"

Aramis struggled to sit up and meet Athos' gaze. "I think you mean fight and watch them fall... and hear how the great Comte de la Fere rescued his little friend from Savoy and nursed him back to health".

"It won't be like that".

"It will be _just_ like that".

"Aramis, you forget yourself, I am only trying to help... You would do the same for me if I were in your position".

"But you're not. And you never would be... The favoured musketeer, coming here with his airs and graces. Who would send him on a petty training exercise? What training could he possibly need?"

Athos frowned, where had this come from? True Aramis had seemed a little resentful when Athos first joined the musketeers. His background wasn't exactly typical, and it ruffled feathers when he was addressed more like a Comte than a soldier. It came to a head when Athos was given command over them on a mission and Aramis resisted as much as he could in a rather passive aggressive manner. But it also ended there when Athos saved their lives and proved himself worthy of the command he'd been given. They had grown ever closer since and any initial animosity was long forgotten. Why did it come to light now? Had it festered all this time only to seep forth like poison? Or was Aramis simply grasping at an old grudge, hoping to drive Athos away? Whatever it was the young musketeer was close to crossing a line...

"Enough Aramis". That hard edge returned to Athos' voice, but it soon became something more gentle. "We need you. We're brothers… you, me, Porthos - Together until the end".

"And the end nearly came. Where were you when _I _needed _you_?" Aramis suddenly shrank. What little energy he had gathered to trade thrust and riposte with Athos drained away. "You don't need me… what use am I? I couldn't save any of them…"

"No man could... not ambushed and wounded as you were. You're one of us Aramis, you can't let us down, you_ must_ get strong again".

"I'm not one of you… not any more. My head hurts Athos… let me rest". Aramis muttered before turning over.

Athos sighed and took his leave. At least he hadn't been chased from the room with angry words. Porthos seemed to find it especially hurtful, no matter how many times Athos told him Aramis wasn't himself he took every blow to heart.

**~oOo~**

**Note**: Remember those mistakes I mentioned? My DVD arrived a couple of days ago and since watching "Commodities" again I've realised the guys didn't know Athos was the Comte de la Fere. Oops. I hope you'll allow me a little creative licence on that point :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Note**: I'm sorry for making you wait a little longer for this last chapter. I've been working on my next story, which should be ready to go shortly (I promise you lots more angst and manpain!) :) Thank you to everybody who has followed, favourited and reviewed! You're awesome :D

**Chapter Four**

_Don't break your back on the track  
Don't break...don't break_

It was later that week when Athos returned late from guard duty. The night was quiet and cold, he was more than happy to get inside the main room of the garrision and close to the fire. However he was not happy to find Porthos there. One of them was always with Aramis, even if they were only standing outside his room.

Porthos leaned close to the fire, his head in his hands, staring intensely… he didn't seem to notice Athos had approached.

"What are you doing here?" Athos asked.

"He doesn't want me there Athos. And I can't…" Porthos took a deep breath and started again. "I know what you say is true - that he's in a dark place right now, that he'll let us in when he's ready - but he knows exactly what to say… he knows exactly how to twist the knife".

"And what was it this time?" Athos didn't take a seat, if Porthos wouldn't go to Aramis then he would have to.

Porthos stared at the fire a little longer before answering. "That leaving is all I know… just as my parents left me, I am bound to leave everyone else… That I am a gutter rat… That I am worthless… can't wield a sword, can't shoot, can barely ride. I'm only good for brawling like a tavern drunkard... and he's tired of watching my back…"

"He knows exactly what to say because he knows us. He says I'm a high born wastrel riding on the coat tails of my good name, and I'm only saving him to bring glory to myself". Athos seemed to growl deep in his throat. He had told Aramis to be angry at him, not Porthos. No matter what condition Aramis was in he was going too far. "Come on, let us speak with him and put an end to this. Letting it continue is doing no good to anyone, least of all him".

Athos was trying not to simmer as he made his way to Aramis' room. The man was ailing and after what he had been through nobody could blame him for being a bit off. But having watched Porthos sit by Aramis' side day and night, suffering alongside him, Athos couldn't help but feel a little angry. Besides, he was not going to get better by lashing out at everyone…

A light knock on the door went unanswered, when a heavier one yielded no reply a spark of worry set alight in Athos' heart and he pushed his way inside.

The bed was empty.

Athos bit back a curse. "Let's split up. He can't have gotten far, not in his condition…"

**~oOo~**

Porthos near enough ran from the room on finding it empty. That Aramis had got to his feet at all was astounding considering he had barely eaten anything… but wandering the garrison was going to do him no favours. Porthos checked every room he passed, but found nothing until he came out onto the balcony overlooking the courtyard. His warm breath clouded as it hit the frigid air and he drew his cloak a little closer as he made his way across the wooden decking. A trail of footsteps in the snow below caught Porthos' eye… He hurried along and found a single solitary figure hunched against the cold, shuffling towards the archway.

"Aramis!" Porthos' voice echoed around the empty courtyard.

The weak and weary man turned to look up and then made to run a few steps on seeing who it was. His legs gave way and he crashed to his knees in the snow.

Porthos ran down to Aramis as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. On reaching his friend Porthos bundled him up in his arms. Aramis weakly struggled against him.

"What are you doing out here? Are you mad?" Porthos asked in disbelief.

Still Aramis wound this way and that, trying to free himself of Porthos' grip. "Let me go! Get off me!"

"No! You're not fit to be out here, you're not fit to be out of bed!"

Somehow Aramis got an arm free and a wayward fist came out of nowhere and struck Porthos in the face. He fell back momentarily stunned by the fact Aramis had hit him. There was little actual force behind the blow…

Still, it gave Aramis enough room to attempt crawling away. His frantic breath coloured the air with his effort, but he scrabbled only a few feet away before Porthos reached out and grabbed his ankle.

With a hefty pull Aramis ended up flat on his face, all energy having been spent on his ill fated flight. He ended up back in Porthos' arms moments later. Just as he had been cradled in the snow at Savoy. Back then Porthos had been filled with relief at finding his friend alive, relief and worry at his condition… Now Porthos was filled with disbelief, he just couldn't understand, why did Aramis want to be rid of them? What had they done that was so terrible besides leaving?

"Why are you doing this Aramis? Why?" Porthos voice seemed to be on the verge of cracking.

Aramis looked up at him with tear filled eyes, his own voice was a frail broken thing. "Leave me Porthos..."

"Don't you dare say that to me! You have cursed me all this time for leaving, I'll not leave you again!"

"It's my turn... I'm leaving… you can't stop me". Aramis shivered as he spoke.

"I just did, and I won't let you go Aramis".

From the corner of his eye Porthos noticed Athos above on the balcony. He made his way down and stood by quietly, giving them room.

"I have to go… can't stay here, I don't want to be _here_". A stray tear escaped unbidden as Aramis bitterly spoke of the garrison.

"Why not? It's your home… we're your family". Porthos couldn't keep the disbelief from his voice.

"I don't belong here… it's not home, not any more. I'm no musketeer. Let me go Porthos… _please_". Aramis begged with his eyes as much as his voice.

"I can't… I won't. You're one of us Aramis. We're brothers, until the end".

"And that's the problem…" Aramis pressed on at seeing Porthos' confused expression. "The end will come, and I can't bear it. Not the thought of you and Athos… Twenty died, and it breaks me apart every time I close my eyes and see their faces, but if you two had been there… I was helpless… If I had lost you…" Aramis swallowed heavily and tried to carry on despite his wavering voice. "But I will lose you eventually, unless I am lost first… and I cannot be here for that. I cannot be a musketeer any longer".

Aramis closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.

At that moment Athos took a step forwards. "So you tried to drive us away, and then when that didn't work you tried to leave… It was a good attempt, but you should have known better than that. We will not abandon you, nor will we let you abandon us".

"I'm sorry… I didn't mean any of it…"

"It is forgotten Aramis". Porthos was quick to anger, but just as quick to forgive and forget. "And it is not your fault, not any of it. We watch each other's backs. Athos and I will protect you just as you protect us. You _are_ a musketeer and you _do_ belong here. Let us make a pact here and now - all for one and one for all".

Porthos raised a hand and Aramis rested his own shaking palm on top of it. Athos knelt down to place his hand over Aramis' and together they spoke: "All for one and one for all".

A quiet moment passed between them until Porthos bowed his head closer to Aramis, his voice little more than a whisper. "You're all I've got, you and Athos. I came from nothing, and without you I have nothing. You're my family... I need you".

"I'm sorry…" Came Aramis' reply, whispered in return.

"Let's get you back inside before you freeze to death". Athos cut in and made to help them up.

When they were on their feet Porthos appraised Aramis with a critical eye. "I'll carry you in, you're weak as a kitten".

But Aramis raised a weary hand before Porthos managed to pick him up.

"I want to walk".

"Let us help. Your legs can barely take your weight…" Porthos implored.

"No… let me walk". Aramis huffed out between chattering teeth.

So Athos and Porthos each offered a shoulder to hang on to and the three musketeers slowly made their way back inside. The road to recovery had at last been set upon.

**~oOo~**

_Present day..._

Porthos paced the small room, still angry, though his anger was beginning to drain away with every word.

"All for one and one for all Aramis! Do you remember that? Do you still wish yourself in the ground with the rest of them? Do you want us buried alongside you?"

"Of course I remember it… and I have _never _wanted that for you". Aramis spoke quietly.

"And for you?"

The silence from Aramis was telling.

Porthos came to sit beside him on the bed, his manner now more gentle than wrathful.

"Do you also remember what I told you? You're all I've got Aramis, I need you... you're my only family. You and Athos mean the world to me. I have lived so much of this life with nothing, I don't think you really know what it is to have nothing… What is nothing really? You would probably tell me that nothing is nothing, it is an absence… but no, there is a hunger that burns, a loneliness that breaks you apart… nothing is something terrible to have, and you took it away. I need you, and I'm sure Athos does too, though he would never admit it".

Athos gave the ghost of smile from where he stood leaning against the wall. "Of course, I have come to enjoy the trouble you bring… I would quite miss it".

"What he means to say is that you're family to him too". Porthos frowned.

The smile fell from Athos' lips quite abruptly. "Indeed… I have no family, not any more. But I have found a family here that brings me more happiness than a wife ever could. I have found brothers I can protect, and brothers who will protect me in turn…"

"Aramis… will you let us help you?"

He looked up then, and met their eyes uncertainly. Aramis seemed to battle with the idea of opening up, once that door was open and the horrors let out there would be no closing it.

Porthos spoke gently. "You're safe here, with us".

And so Aramis took a deep breath.

"It starts when the snow comes… It starts when I walk on powdered ground…"


End file.
